promises

My DNA is from the Scots 

Legacy of 6 generations of women sit on the piano.

The music from the isles of Scotland 

plays in my veins, carrying the rhythm of the past.

Giving me the song of promise.

Let me dance with echo’s, let me sing with voices.

Reminding me to not let them down.

They cried, they laughed, and they lived in hope.

It is in that hope they bore the tides of their wombs.

Rushing onto the promises of tomorrow, 

the slipping sands grip into the current of time.

I share the apron of hope to the beauty left behind.

Christine McNeill-Matteson

copyright : 2023

He put his arm around me

Told me it was going to be ok.

This virus will not last forever 

It will not stay…

My uncle told me that he loved me

the virus will go away

the vaccines are helping

this virus will not stay.

He will be a friend to call on

or a buddy to play ball

a confidant to share with

the switch games and all.

He put his arm around me

told me it was going to be ok.

The virus will not last forever,

this virus will not stay.

Love

He thought it was anonymous

I dare say it was not.

For history, time, and well intent

His soul long gone, body has rot.

The pages now among the bards

in halls and glass for history.

They have displayed all your answers

for poets like me to read your mysteries.

Harvard and Cambridge so inquired

You trusted and did reply

But the disclaimer at the top

Time has now denied.

© Christine McNeill-Matteson